


Solitary Love

by Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls/pseuds/Cassius_theCorrupterofSouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows it's wrong, and yet Morgana can't help but fancy her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitary Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prologue to the ArMor fic I am working on. The title is tentative.

What was it like to live in Morgana’s world? To be pushed away and abandoned. Cast off. Only to be picked up again.

Could anyone commiserate her in her pain? The countless hours spent alone in her chambers, staring into the mirror at that same face staring back at her. Watching time pass by without her. A cheek that would never be caressed, lips that would never be kissed. The face of a young woman doomed to remain alone—hidden in the shadows. Her thoughts and feelings kept at bay. One could rot in such a prison.

Morgana brushed her hair.

And dreamed as she beheld herself in the mirror.

* * *

It was wrong—she knew it was wrong—but must she conquer the feelings of her heart? Her father, Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, would have commended her restraint, naming her actions (or lack thereof) noble. God would have loved her.

Morgana didn’t fancy such inspired speech. It was all a bunch of bullshit to her. Words that baited a man’s heart into giving up his life for God, King, and Country.

Fortunately, Morgana was a woman and immune to the folly of men.

But still, foolish heroisms put aside, doubt plagued Morgana. What she intended…it was the worst sin imaginable, well, short of murder anyhow. Rather, it was an adultery of sorts—a betrayal of blood and bone.

It would bring dishonor to her name to even speak it, let alone seal it in the dead quiet of a winter night. Hands grasping backs, and lips burning lips. The murmurs of lovemaking.

It would have been different if it had been any other man she longed for. Then it would have only been an affair of the common sort. Enough to tarnish the name, without condemning the soul attached. An afternoon in the confessional and all would be well again, if one could handle the gossip anyway.

But this.

This was unforgivable—no, downright inconceivable. The sort of lust that would cause once trusted friends to whisper behind her back about how sick in the head she was. And they would be right. She was sick. No sister would ever come to fancy her brother in such a way.

But here she was with that darkest secret bound to her chest.

She, Morgana Pendragon, had come to be deeply and irrevocably in love with her brother, Arthur Pendragon, the Future King of Camelot.


End file.
